


Flying Practice

by cyclamental



Category: Captain America (Movies), Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019, Don’t copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Minor Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, Pern (Dragonriders of Pern), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Threadfall (Dragonriders of Pern), Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, dragons made them do it, unsafe sex bc on Pern there are no STIs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 16:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19232488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyclamental/pseuds/cyclamental
Summary: Bucky squirms and swats Clint’s hand away. “I don’t need to practice bottoming, Clint. You know I don’t bottom.”Clint eyes him skeptically. “Oh, you will my friend, you will. In the moment, you won’t be able to help it, and trust me, you’llwantit.”orBucky gets his ass-cherry popped, an allegory heavily inspired by the Dragonriders of Pern. So, you know - First Time, but with dragons.





	Flying Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for Flying Practice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226764) by [deisderium art (Deisderium)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/deisderium%20art). 



> Endless thanks to my artist, [deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium), my first fandom friend with whom I bonded over a mutual love of dragons and Stucky. Without your incredible encouragement, I don't know if I would have created this, my **very first fic**. Your art is gorgeous and I can't wait to work on the next thing with you!
> 
> Thanks to [the_genderman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman) for the super fast beta!
> 
> And finally, thanks to the mods of this challenge for being so understanding as I kept missing my posting dates. I popped out a baby during this challenge and she sort of messed with my ability to commit to anything. However - it is thanks to this challenge that I can now proudly say I'm truly a writer.
> 
> \--
> 
> For those of you familiar with the Dragonriders of Pern, this is heavily inspired by but not faithful to that canon. Dragon names don't end in -th, I use regular names for weekdays, hours, etc. The idea was to take the fun parts of Impression and mating flights and build a story around that.
> 
> For those readers unfamiliar with Pern, here's a simple glossary of some terms used throughout. Definitions pulled from the Pern Wiki.
> 
> **Weyr** : the home for a collection of dragons, their riders and support staff. Rhymes with "here". Imagine an inactive volcano riddled with cave systems.
> 
> **weyr** : a dragonrider's apartment.
> 
> **Thread** : a mycorrhizoidal spore that consumes any organic matter it can find, but is deterred by metal, plastic and rock, and killed by water, cold and fire. Its appearance is as thin, silvery threads that periodically rain down on the planet (threadfall). 
> 
> **Weyrling** : a person who has recently Impressed a dragon. The term could also refer to a young dragon. Weyrlings are typically referred as such until their dragons mature, typically at 1.5-2 years of age.
> 
> **Impression** : refers to the mental bonding that occurs between a dragon and a human. Dragons, are capable of full-fledged mental communication with their riders.
> 
> **Between** : a dark dimension which dragons have the ability to travel through to teleport from one location to the other.

“Yes, yes, HARDER, yes, so close, SO CLOSE, RIGHT THERE, YES,” Clint yells, writhing on the end of Bucky’s dick and roughly stripping his own, pushing back into Bucky’s hard thrusts. Bucky, for his part, is dripping sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, gripping Clint’s hips firmly as he pounds into him. He doubles down on the pressure, thrusts harder as he feels Clint tremble and clench, finally spilling onto the sheets below, the delicious, hot grip of Clint’s body pulling him over right after.

He pulls out gently, takes a moment to admire the trail of come starting to leak out of Clint’s ass, and flops over onto his back next to the other man. Clint arches his back like a cat and falls to his side on the bed, reaching out to clasp Bucky’s hand, breathing hard. Flushed and satisfied, he grins at Bucky. “Well, that was awesome,” he says.

Bucky tries to keep his answering smile just this side of smug. “Yeah, fun as always. I know I can always count on you to blow off a little steam.” He stretches and laces his hands behind his head, dick limp and sticky on his thigh.

Clint props himself up on an arm and looks down at Bucky. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

Bucky scoffs. “Tomorrow? Why would I possibly be nervous about that?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man. I know you. You freak out about stuff like this. It’ll be okay. Rogers is a good Wingleader. Demanding, but fair.”

Bucky holds Clint’s eyes for a moment before turning his gaze back up at the ceiling. Chewing at his lip a little before answering, he says, “fine, you’re not wrong. I’m a little nervous.” The next morning marks his first day in a fighting wing, and after almost six months in the weyrling wing he is more than ready to graduate to an adult fighting force.

“You’ll do great,” Clint reassures him. “You and Winter are the best flyers amongst the weyrlings – it’s why you got placed in Rogers’ wing. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Bucky closes his eyes, trying to release the anxiety threatening to encroach and ruin his post-coital high. He knows Clint is right, that he and Winter make an impressive team, but it’s still hard to quell the nerves that come whenever he thinks about how his life is about to change. He’d Impressed later in life than most dragonriders, when he was 19 years old, and now at almost 22 he is one of the oldest newbies to join a wing. Fuck, Rogers was actually _younger_ than he was by a year, and already leading what was arguably the best fighting wing at Shield Weyr. Yes, Rogers had Impressed incredibly young, but _still_ – he has a way of making Bucky feel completely inadequate despite not even knowing the man.

_Stop worrying,_ says a voice in his mind. _Tomorrow will go fine._

Bucky smiles as Winter’s sweet words interrupt his thought spiral. His constant companion for the past two years, the green dragon was always there to stop his anxious thoughts in their tracks before they got too far down the road. He sometimes wondered how he’d ever survived without her.

_Thanks, darling,_ he thinks back to her. He senses a soft rumbling and warm contentment in response.

Clint’s mouth pulls into a soft smile, familiar with the glassy-eyed look of rider communing with dragon. “Besides,” he says, “what you should be nervous about is Winter’s first flight. It’s gotta be coming up soon. What’re you gonna do then?” His smile turns lascivious.

Bucky stretches again and rolls up onto his side to face Clint. “What do you mean what am I gonna do? I’m gonna do what every green rider does during every mating flight. Enjoy the fuck out of it.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Sure, that sounds great, but don’t you think it’d be good to have some… _practice_ beforehand?” Clint lets his eyes rake down Bucky’s body before reaching over his waist, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s ass and squeezing.

Bucky squirms and swats Clint’s hand away. “I don’t need to practice bottoming, Clint. You know I don’t bottom.”

Clint eyes him skeptically. “Oh, you will my friend, you will. In the moment, you won’t be able to help it, and trust me, you’ll _want_ it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to let anyone force me to do anything I don’t want to do. I _don’t bottom_ and that’s really the end of it.”

“What’s wrong with bottoming?” Clint asks, squinting. “I bottom for you all the time, it’s awesome! Don’t I look like I’m enjoying myself?”

Bucky shrugs as much as being propped up on one side allows. “Sure, but I just don’t think I’d like it. I like topping. But why try something I might not like instead of something I _know_ I love?” 

Clint looks unimpressed. “It’s called ‘trying new things,’ Bucky. It’s called ‘variety’. You should try it! It’s fun, feels great. Don’t you want someone to take care of you for once?”

Bucky sucks his lower lip into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth. He was self-aware enough to realize that it was the vulnerability of bottoming that made him squeamish, rather than the physicality of it, and he exhales deeply. “Maybe I just haven’t found the right partner yet.”

Clint barks out a laugh. “Well, do you really think you’ll find him on Winter’s first flight? It’s gonna be a hormone-fueled free for all, there’s not always a lot of delicacy in the heat of the moment.”

Bucky throws him an unimpressed look. “Hey,” Clint says gently, “why don’t you let me just… show you a few things? Maybe just crack open that back door a little?” Bucky’s eyes widen and Clint cackles as he traces a hand down Bucky’s hip to massage at the crease where ass meets thigh.

Bucky feels like his face is on fire as he slowly lifts his eyes to meet Clint’s. Maybe it would be better to be prepared… just in case he isn’t in complete control of himself in the heat of the moment. He’d grown up in the Weyr, he _knew_ what could happen. “I,” he pauses, clears his throat to start again. “I guess a little foreknowledge wouldn’t…hurt…” He stares at Clint’s smug grin and frowns. “It’s not gonna hurt, is it?” 

Clint’s smile grows downright dirty. “Trust me, the last thing it’s gonna do is hurt. Just let me show you.” 

* * *

“Shit, shit shit shit shit!” Bucky says to himself, stumbling out onto the practice field and just narrowly avoiding tripping over his own feet as he runs out to the group of dragonriders milling around, waiting to begin drills. Despite staying up way too late with Clint going another round the night before, it looked like he was going to make his first practice on time. He scrambles to the group, pulling his vest down hastily in an attempt to appear somewhat professional and swallows against a dry throat as he tries to stand tall with his shoulders back. 

One of the riders notices him and approaches. “James Barnes, welcome to Strike Wing One,” he says, holding his hand out with a smile. “I’m Sam Wilson, Wingsecond. I ride Redwing,” he adds, gesturing over his shoulder at a beautiful bronze sitting regally nearby.

Bucky takes Sam’s hand in his right, left clutching his flight helmet and tucked down close to his side. While he’s not exactly trying to hide his prosthetic, he’s not necessarily showing it off, either. First impressions and all that. “Nice to meet you Sam,” he says. “I’m looking forward to flying with the wing. My dragon is Winter, she’s here already of course.” He points her out to Sam where she sits amongst the dragons of the wing. They’re understandably curious about her, and several of their human counterparts are now looking towards Bucky.

Sam looks like he’s trying not to laugh. It’s not like he helped select Bucky from the weyrling pool or anything. “We’re glad to have you. Get settled in and if you have any questions, let me know.” He pats Bucky on the shoulder and walks off to the huddle of wing leaders. Bucky looks around at the members of his wing, all standing in small groups talking, and ends up scuttling over to Winter, who is currently touching noses and greeting some of her new wingmates.

_Social anxiety, dearest?_ she says, craning her neck down so he can scratch an eye ridge. She rumbles gently as he obliges, doing little to soothe his first day jitters. He peers over his shoulder back to the cluster of riders. While he’s far from the oldest among them, there are many his age or younger with more years of experience, thanks to his late Impression. The familiar insecurity niggles at him, and he chews his lip nervously. Winter butts her head into his chest, encouraging him to wrap his arms around her. _You’ll be fine. I am here, I love you, and that’s all that matters._

Bucky buries his face in her soft, warm hide and smiles. _You’re right,_ he thinks to her, _thank you dearest._ He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly and pulls away. When he turns around, there’s a small redheaded woman staring up at him from a few steps away. He blinks down and frowns slightly at her hard look, assessing. She looks him up and down, then cracks a smile.

“Hi,” she says, stepping forward and offering a hand. “I’m Natasha. I ride Widow,” she says, gesturing to the small green dragon currently snuffling at Winter.

He puts his hand in hers, her grip cool but firm. “Bucky. This is Winter. Nice to meet you.”

Natasha nods. “Our mutual friend asked me to look out for you.”

Bucky blinks. “Who?" 

She raises one eyebrow. “Clint? He didn’t tell you about me?” Natasha snorts, purses her lips. “Not surprised. Yes, Clint’s a friend. Said you might be nervous today. We greenriders need to stick together anyway, so I’m happy to do it, at least for today.” She gestures behind her to the riders starting to line up for practice to begin. “Follow me, we’re about to get started.” She guides Bucky to the group of riders on the left side of the field, slotting neatly amongst them and making room for Bucky next to her. She faces forward, standing at rest.

The chatter settles as their wingleader and wingseconds separate and return to their respective groups. Steve Rogers stands before the 32 assembled dragonriders, hands on his hips, assessing. The members of the wing stand silent, waiting for their leader to speak, and Bucky is impressed by the discipline of the group. This is the first time he’s seen Rogers up close; up to this point their paths haven’t really crossed, though Rogers is something of a local legend at the Weyr, with his reputation as an astute strategist and talented leader despite his youth. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and, Bucky admits, handsome, with a square jaw and full mouth set firm beneath a clear blue gaze. His hair is cut short in the fashion of most dragonriders, gleaming gold in the rising sun.

“Today marks our restoration to a full fighting wing,” Rogers begins, voice deep and resonant across the practice field. “I’d like all of you to meet James Barnes and his partner Winter.” He nods to Bucky, who senses eyes on him as his wingmates turn to nod in greeting. “Please do what you can to make Barnes and Winter feel welcome and integrate quickly into the wing.” He pauses for a few seconds, allowing his team to bring their attention back to him. “With that, let’s get started.” 

* * *

Bucky trudges back to his weyr, dead on his feet. While he’d been no slouch in the weyrling wing, Strike Wing One performs at a whole different level. Rogers had observed for much of the practice, offering short, specific corrections to Bucky and Winter as they flew through the basic fighting formations and wing patterns. Widow also made fast friends with Winter, demonstrating the acrobatic maneuvers they were expected to learn.

“Why are we doing this?” Bucky had asked Natasha. “This isn’t…standard.”

Natasha grins. “There’s a reason we’re the best. There’s a reason we chose you.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. _We?_  

Bucky had already seen to Winter, scrubbing the dust off her soft hide and applying oil, massaging her muscles firmly after the demanding workout. He knew that he should take a hot soak as well, despite how tired he was, or he’d be stiff and aching in the morning. He had two weeks before his first Threadfall with the new wing and near-daily training until then; he knew he’d have to work hard to be ready.

Grabbing a set of clean nightclothes and a robe, he walks slowly to the communal baths down in the lower caverns. He shucks his riding clothes and tosses them in his laundry bag, then rinses the first layer of dust off before working some soap into a lather, cleansing the sweat and grime of a hard day of physical labor off his body. He undoes his braid and washes his hair, thinking again that it might be time to go for the short cut most riders sport, combing it through before rebraiding it and coiling it on top of his head, securing it with a clip. Once clean, he moves to the hottest pool in the cavern, sinking in slowly until he’s submerged up to his neck. He exhales deeply, closing his eyes and questing out to Winter – she’s sleeping peacefully in their weyr, also exhausted from the day. 

He’s dozing lightly when he hears the small splash of someone entering the pool near him. He blinks his eyes open blearily and then sits up rapidly as he sees Rogers settling in a few feet away. “Please,” Rogers says, a hand already raised to Bucky, “relax, we’re off duty.” He offers Bucky a smile. Bucky eases back down, eyeing him a little warily. “You did well today.”

Bucky chances a small smile back. “Thank you, sir,” he says.

Rogers waves him off. “Please, no ‘sir’. Call me Steve.”

Bucky nods, glad the lighting in the caverns is somewhat dim and he can attribute his flush to the heat of the bath. “Steve. You can call me Bucky. Only my mother calls me James.”

Steve smiles again. “Sure, Bucky. Glad to have you on the team.” He stretches his arms up and folds his hands behind his head. The muscles of his upper body pull and stretch, and Bucky can’t help his gaze darting down to those perfect, round pectorals. His eyes flick back up to find Steve watching him and he huffs out a breath, face on fire at being caught. Steve’s face is unreadable, odd quirk to his mouth indicative of anything from humor to disdain.

Suddenly fiercely uncomfortable, Bucky makes to get out of the bath. He counts on the low light and steam to hide his rising dick, curses his hormones and grabs his robe, rapidly wrapping himself up. Steve is looking up at him, dismay now clear on his face. “You don’t have to leave on my account,” he says.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, it’s not you,” he says, “I really need to get to bed, if I’m going to be up early tomorrow.” He rubs a hand across his eyes blearily. “I’ll… see you tomorrow Steve,” he adds, then turns and flees.

* * *

The next day at practice, it’s as if the awkward encounter of the night before didn’t happen. Bucky notices that his wingmates have a fierce camaraderie amongst them, calling each other by first names, nicknames, and even insults at times. The pace of exercises they run through is rapid and Bucky struggles to keep up. He and Winter turn the wrong way in a joint maneuver that has them almost colliding with Natasha and Widow, avoided only by Widow popping _between_ and reappearing two dragonlengths above. Natasha scowls down at him and Steve is there moments later, calling a halt to the exercise and ordering a break.

Feeling humiliated, Bucky directs Winter to land on the practice field and hops off, buying time by grabbing a drink from his canteen. Steve’s bronze lands next to them, surprisingly dainty for such a large creature, and Steve’s standing beside him a moment later. Once he turns to face his wingleader, Bucky notices Steve’s only about an inch taller, and he’s eye to eye with Steve giving him a considering look. “Everything okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky winces and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Just learning, I guess,” he says, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

Steve takes a step closer, enough to force Bucky’s gaze back up to him. “Hey, can I tell you something?” he says. Bucky nods. “When I first started, I was one of the youngest riders in my wing.”

Bucky nods again – he already knew this by Steve’s reputation.

“I was really small, too – skinny, short, ready to fight anyone who looked twice at me,” Steve adds. “I didn’t really know what I was doing, and I didn’t want anyone’s help, either.”

Bucky blinks at Steve. It’s hard to believe that he was ever small, considering how big he is now, but he supposes everyone’s a kid at some point. He’s starting to feel a bit embarrassed as he recalls that he’s actually older than Steve, and grates out, “Is there a point to this story?”

Steve’s lips tighten a little, and he continues, “So Nomad here was about ready to do some of his first practice flights – just some basic hops and glides, you know – and I fucked up the tack, didn’t buckle and tighten it correctly. Fell right off of him in front of the entire weyrling wing, risked injuring him, because I was too proud to ask the weyrlingmaster for help when I was unsure.”

Bucky snorts at that – Steve wouldn’t have gotten more than a few bruises from the fall, but it would have been humiliating in front of his peers, especially as one of the youngest with something to prove.

“My point is,” Steve says, “you’ve got to ask for help when you need it. If you are confused about something, please ask. That’s the culture in my Wing. We help each other.” He puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, the metal one, the point of contact radiating heat. “I expect it to take time for you to get up to speed. Not too long, I hope,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “but at least a few weeks.” He smiles and gives Bucky a small squeeze before dropping his hand.

Bucky swallows against a suddenly dry throat. No one has ever treated his prosthetic with such nonchalance. He knows that his arm is unusual and that most people are polite enough to at least not stare too overtly, but he’s never had anyone just reach out and touch it as if it were any other part of him. Steve, however, has not even looked twice at it, and just touched him as if he were touching real flesh and blood. He looks down at the ground, suddenly overcome with some sort of emotion he can’t quite identify, and blinks up again quickly. No wonder this guy has such a reputation as a great leader, he’s really got charisma. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

Steve smiles and nods at him. “Let’s get back to it, shall we?” He turns and vaults up to Nomad’s back, strong and graceful, and suddenly Bucky’s feeling heated for a different reason.

* * *

Things quickly settle into a routine. Bucky wakes early, practices all morning with his team, breaks for lunch. Three afternoons during the week they spend hours doing drills, maintaining or improving the strength and agility of both dragon and rider, and the other afternoons are free. Then dinner, a bath and collapse into bed. There’s a rotating schedule for weekend patrol and transport duty, but thus far Bucky has been exempt as he comes up to speed in his new wing. The practices are still grueling for him and Winter, but after the first week, when even his bruises have bruises, he has to admit that they’re starting to get the hang of things.

“How’s it going?” Clint asks, sliding onto the bench across from Bucky and Natasha at dinner that Friday night. “Everything you dreamed of and more?” He shoves a roll into his mouth.

Bucky just looks at him with vague disgust for a moment, almost too tired to reply. “It’s going ok,” he finally mutters, “definitely tougher than I thought it would be though.”

Clint shrugs. “It’s like that for everyone when they transition out of the weyrling wing, and you’ve got it especially tough with Rogers. The guy’s a slave driver!” he exclaims, then cowering a little at Natasha’s scowl from Bucky’s side. “Well, I mean, there’s a reason his wing is the best, and that reason is insane amounts of practice.”

“It’s not just practice,” Natasha says, “it’s strategy and maneuvers too. We do things that no other wing even tries, we trust each other, and above all we trust our Wingleader.”

“Hey,” Clint says, “I trust my wing!” He tears off a piece of his second roll and throws it at her, and she handily dodges.

“Whatever,” she says, sniffing haughtily. “Strike Three pales in comparison to One.” She daintily drags the last bit of her roll through her leftover stew and pops it into her mouth. 

Bucky zones out as they bicker and his gaze wanders several tables over to where Steve sits with Sam and a few of the other Wingleaders. Over the past week Steve has continued to give Bucky kind corrections during practice and explaining carefully what he can expect on his first stint fighting Threadfall with the wing in about another week. Bucky wonders if every new recruit gets this kind of personalized attention from Steve, and while he enjoys it on some level, he also wonders if it’s indicative of him _needing_ extra help.

He’s also been encountering Steve entering and leaving the communal baths, which only struck him as odd after the third time it happened, when he realized that someone at Steve’s level should have access to the smaller, more private baths reserved for members of the Weyr in positions of leadership. It seemed like a weird thing to bring up to Natasha, so he hadn’t spoken of it, and in the past week had actually grown to appreciate the opportunity to see his Wingleader in various states of undress. His cheeks warm as he thinks back to that first night, the broad planes of Steve’s bare chest stretching before him.

“Hey, Bucky, you still with us?” Clint’s reaching across the table and jabbing him in the shoulder. Bucky jolts and turns back to his friends. Clint grins at him, “you were a million miles away there. Someone catch your eye?” he bats his eyelashes.

Bucky flushes further. “What? No!” He shakes his head. “I’m just… really tired. I’m gonna go take a bath.” He gathers up his dishes and makes to stand up.

“It _looked_ like you were zoning out there over our handsome Wingleader,” Natasha says pointedly.

“What?” Bucky says. He swallows, caught out. He glances back over toward Steve. The man has his head thrown back, laughing at something Sam has said, and his eyes are squeezed shut, mouth wide open and hand resting on his own left pec. He turns back to Natasha and Clint, silent a moment too long. “Alright, so he’s hot. What’s the deal?”

Natasha just looks at him, unimpressed. “He likes you, you know. He’s not this nice to just anyone.”

Bucky bristles a little. “You saying I get special treatment?”

Clint holds his hands up. “I think she’s saying he _likes_ you, buddy.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Like, _like-_ likes you.”

Bucky snorts and stands up. “Yeah, now I’ve heard it all.” He grabs his dirty dishes and pulls away from the table. “I’ve got a date with a hot bath and a soft bed. See you later.”

“Yeah, I _bet_ he does,” Clint says, crossing his arms. Natasha just smiles knowingly. Bucky rolls his eyes and walks away. He doesn’t notice Steve’s eyes on him, or the way he quickly excuses himself from his table once he sees Bucky leave the dining hall.

* * *

On Saturday, Bucky spends most of the day in bed, catching up on sleep and recovering from the incredibly intense week he had Winter had endured. On Sunday, he’s up early and feeling much better, deciding to take Winter out for a leisurely flight. He’d been too tired in the prior week to enjoy any of his afternoons off and he’s feeling itchy under his skin, needing the thrill of flying without the responsibility of fighting. Once he’s dressed and eaten breakfast he’s back in his weyr, gently waking Winter with gentle strokes on her face and soft questing toward her mind.

_You up for a flight, my love? Just you and me?_ he asks. 

Winter slowly blinks her eyes open, then stretches like a cat, neck and forelegs first, then back arching, hind legs and tail following. Finally, she stands and stretches her wings delicately out to their full length before carefully tucking them in again. She truly is the most beautiful creature Bucky has ever seen: her hide is the clear blue green of sea glass, her underbelly and wing membranes fading seamlessly into a soft mint. She’s large for a green, but lithely proportioned, limbs long and slender. Her added size and strength make it easier for her to bear the weight of Bucky’s metal arm, and her form allows her for unparalleled agility in the air. It came as a surprise to no one when she and Bucky ranked top of their weyrling wing. Her fondness for him swirls first in his mind, followed by eagerness. _Always, my dear. Where shall we go?_

 

_Let’s go to our secret spot,_ Bucky says. _Who knows when we’ll get the chance to go again anytime soon._

Bucky senses more than hears Winter’s agreement, and gets her dressed in light tack quickly before they launch from the weyr’s cave, climbing high above Shield Weyr within seconds. Bucky lies close to Winter’s neck as she pumps her wings powerfully, warming up her muscles before trying anything acrobatic. They rise until the Weyr is small below them, jumping between thermals and spiraling slowly up. When the Weyr is reduced to something the size of a child’s play village, Winter starts to make lazy loops in the air and Bucky’s braid flips up as they twist upside-down. He reaches his flesh hand back to tuck it into the back of his shirt, then braces himself as Winter dips her head and tucks into a sharp dive. His stomach drops and the wind whipping past his face takes his breath away as the ground below comes rushing up. He flattens himself against Winter as much as he can, working to keep her streamlined and aerodynamic, and presently she snaps her wings out and comes out of the controlled fall, leveling out and catching the next thermal, spiraling up lazily again.

They continue on this way along the cliffs overlooking the river, the forest below becoming thick and impenetrable by sight. Winter doesn’t need to see to guide them to their secret spot, a place they only discovered by accident as weyrlings a year before. Gliding down slowly, she drops the last couple feet to the ground, backwinging and settling down delicately beside the river pool. It’s at the base of a small waterfall, surrounded by trees and almost invisible from above. Bucky slides off her back and removes the light tack, setting it aside, and Winter immediately plunges into the pool, submerging completely before allowing just her horns and eyes to peek above the surface. Bucky grins and strips down before jumping in after her. He swims over and floats on his back next to Winter, stretching out to rest his hand on her face.

He feels a tremendous sense of peace, lying here with Winter. She’s his other half, his best friend, and the love between them is unconditional. It’s like nothing he’s ever known, and while being a dragonrider carries a lot of risk and responsibility, he wouldn’t trade the bond he has with Winter for anything. There’s no need for words between them, he can feel the contentment radiating off of her, and she stretches her wings on the surface of the water, droplets glittering like diamonds on her soft hide. She’s so incredibly beautiful to Bucky, and he feels a surge of love and pride just looking at her.

This was a great idea, Bucky thinks, arching his back and closing his eyes. The stress of the prior week melts off of him in the cool water and he feels confident that with Winter by his side he can conquer anything.

* * *

Once they return to Shield Weyr, Bucky has Winter drop him off at Tony’s forge. Their afternoon swim reminds him that the mechanical arm the Dragonsmith had made for him was acting up, retaining water somewhere in its complicated innards. It not only makes his arm heavier, but it is also messing with the mechanics, sending unpleasant little shocks up his spine. It isn’t really any worse than a little static shock, but Bucky can’t fight Threadfall without it and he needs to know it won’t act up on him in the moment. He braces himself as he enters what Tony affectionately calls his “lab.”

“Tony?” he says, cautiously poking his head into the workshop. He hears loud banging coming from the back room, and takes slow steps toward the noise. The heat increases as he nears the large forge and upon entering the back he sees Tony, hammering away at something, mask lowered over his face but dark hair sticking up around it. “Tony!” he yells, approaching him from the side.

Tony looks up with a startle, then plunges his iron into a barrel of water. He lets the metal hiss as he pushes up his mask and gives Bucky a smile. “Barnes! Haven’t seen you in a while. What brings you to my lab?”

Bucky eyes the smith warily, then gestures to his left arm. “The arm’s acting up. Not draining right, I think. I’m getting shocks, too. Minor, but annoying. Anything you can do?”

Tony pulls off his gloves and approaches Bucky, taking his arm with deft fingers. He drags Bucky over to a table and pulls his arm down to lie on the surface. He produces a small tool from one of the many pockets of his apron and starts tinkering, twisting and poking and prodding until he pops off a panel and a rush of water pours out. His lips quirk into a frown, and he tugs the arm toward him a little bit more for a closer look.

“Geez, Tony, easy with the merchandise,” Bucky says, mouth twisted. He’s grateful that Tony made him such an amazing prosthetic after he lost his arm, enabling him to fly Winter so acrobatically, but Tony can get so focused on his creation that sometimes he seems to forget there’s a person attached.

Tony hums and flicks his eyes up to meet Bucky’s. “You’d better leave it with me. There’s definitely a leak in there somewhere, that’s what’s probably causing your electrical problem. I’ll have to take it apart to get a closer look and identify the leak. PETER!” he yells, in the direction of the back door.

Tony’s apprentice pops his head inside. “Yes, Tony?”

“What’s on the schedule that can be moved out?” Tony asks.

Peter hurries over to the thick appointment ledger and runs his finger down the list of orders. “I think we can move some of the repairs out a day or so, but remember we just got the order for Peggy’s new Weyrwoman tack,” he says.

Tony nods, considering. “This shouldn’t take more than a day or so. But you’ll have to leave the arm with me. I can get started on it tonight.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “I have practice tomorrow, I need it to fly.”

Tony shrugs and turns back to his forge, picking up the bellows and fanning the flame. “Hey, it’s fine by me if you wanna risk it, but if I were you I’d take a sick day and let me work on it.”

Bucky exhales carefully. “I’m in Strike Team One now. Rogers won’t let me take a day off with my first Threadfall in a week,” he says.

Peter perks up. “You’re in Roger’s wing? What do you think are his chances for Weyrleader?”

Bucky blinks. “What do you mean?”

Tony turns back to Bucky. “Have you been living under a rock, Barnes? He’s the frontrunner for new Weyrleader. Dottie retired this week and Peggy’s queen Tempest is the next one due to mate.”

Bucky feels ice pooling at the base of his spine, despite the forge’s heat. “Is Fury stepping down?”

Tony shrugs. “That’s what I heard. He’s going to let the next generation take over, enjoy some retirement himself. Rogers and Peggy used to date and Nomad is the fastest of the bronzes, people are already taking bets on him winning Weyrleader.” Tony waggles his eyebrows at Bucky. “Want to bet on it? Nomad may be fast, but I’ve got my money on Jones’ Lascaux. He’s caught his fair share of queens already, could definitely snag Tempest if he set his mind to it.”

“No thanks,” Bucky says, suddenly feeling a bit sick. “But yeah, I’ll leave the arm with you.” He reaches under the armpit to pull the lock release and gently withdraws what’s left of his upper arm from the prosthetic. He tries to ignore Peter’s open stare; Tony’s already back at his arm, pulling off panels. “You’ll be done tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, yeah, come back this time tomorrow,” Tony says, waving Bucky off, already completely absorbed in his work. Bucky swallows against his dry throat, nods and turns to leave. It’s just the heat of the forge making him thirsty, to be sure.

* * *

Bucky wanders back to his weyr in a daze. It’s late for dinner and he needs to find Steve and talk to him about tomorrow’s practice, but he doesn’t want to just walk into the dining hall with the stump of his arm showing. Winter isn’t in when he arrives, which isn’t unusual; there’s still sun in the sky and she’s probably out warming herself in the last of the day’s rays before turning in. Bucky shrugs out of his sleeveless vest and into a long-sleeved shirt; he pins up his empty sleeve and rolls up the other one to his elbow. Satisfied with his appearance for now, he makes his way to the dining hall.

It’s pretty empty when he gets there, which suits his desire to remain unseen. He gets a few curious glances, but most of the weyrfolk know about the childhood accident, when Thread took his arm. He was lucky enough to have escaped the encounter with his life, and doubly so to have gotten the prosthetic that restored his fine motor control and granted him the ability to fly Winter, but it had been several years now since he’d been in public without it. Even his various romantic partners hadn’t seen him without it since he’d started wearing it. 

The itch that had temporarily gone after the relaxing afternoon swim is back, and with it Bucky’s short temper. He doesn’t see Steve in the dining hall and eats his pasta and salad in sullen silence. He sends a curt thought out to Winter. _Can you ask Nomad where Steve is?_

Her mind is a bit fuzzy, as if she’s been napping. After a few moments, she says, _He’s in his weyr._ Annoyance tinges her reply, echoing his own sour mood. Bucky mentally shakes himself, telling himself not to take his feelings out on his best friend. He stands up abruptly and walks the path to the wingleaders’ and wingseconds’ weyrs.

Steve’s is fairly easy to find, though Bucky’s never been there before: it’s labeled with STEVE ROGERS / NOMAD in neat script outside the door. Bucky knocks hard, as the weyrs of the leaders can get quite large, and Steve may already be in his bedchamber by now.

Bucky hears some shuffling and approaching footsteps, and then the door opens. Steve leans on the doorframe, shirtless and wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants, feet bare on the smooth stone of his entryway. His chest is broader than Bucky remembers from his stolen glances in the baths and without the heat and mist of those prior encounters he can see Steve’s blond chest hair and pink nipples with perfect clarity. Bucky’s face immediately heats as he forces his eyes up to meet Steve’s, who is looking at him with a smirk that should be illegal. “Can I help you, Bucky?” he asks.

Bucky’s face feels so hot he thinks he might be melting. “Am I…interrupting something?” he asks.

Steve lifts his eyebrows and pulls the door open. “Not at all. What’s up? Why don’t you come in?” he steps back from the door and gestures for Bucky to enter.

Bucky ducks his head and takes a few steps into Steve’s weyr. He swallows against his suddenly dry throat, trying to remember why he sought out Steve in the first place. He raises his head and opens his mouth to speak, when he suddenly says, “What are you doing here?”

_Winter_ is curled up in the sleeping hollow with Nomad. She deigns to open one eye, looking distinctly unimpressed with Bucky. _I **was** taking a nap. Obviously._ She manages to imbue the word with the impression that Bucky is an idiot and she a fool for ever deciding that he should be her rider.

This at least shocks Bucky out of his embarrassment at all that skin on display. “How long has this been going on?” he asks, turning on Steve. “Did you know about this?”

Steve shrugs, putting up his hands. “Hey, don’t blame me. I came here after dinner and there she was.” He folds his hands behind his back, as if to absolve himself of blame. It only serves to push his chest up and out.

“Why are you napping in here?” Bucky asks Winter, irritated.

_He’s comfy. I like him,_ comes her guileless reply.

Bucky rolls his eyes, huffing out a breath. Steve clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “Did you need something?” he asks, eyeing Bucky’s empty sleeve.

Bucky looks down at his sleeve, feeling first a rush of shame and then extreme annoyance at Steve’s overt gaze. “Yeah,” he says, “I’ve been having problems with my arm, so I asked Stark to take a look for me. He says it’s going to take about a day to fix but that it’s an urgent issue and I need to get it taken care of right away. But it means I can’t make practice tomorrow.” He puts his hand on his hip, further aggravated that he can’t fold his arms across his chest. 

Steve’s eyes narrow and he echoes Bucky’s stance, placing his hands on his hips. “I assume you can’t make practice because you can’t fly one-handed?” he asks.

“Well, yeah,” Bucky spits out. “Not with the sorts of maneuvers that we do.”

“Hey,” Steve growls, grabbing Bucky by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall. Bucky’s breath huffs out of him as his back hits the smooth stone. “I am your wingleader and you _will_ speak to me with respect.” His eyes flick down to Bucky’s lips, then back up to his eyes. His arms fall to his sides. “I’ll give you a pass this once, since I know Winter’s getting proddy. You’ll be there for practice tomorrow at the normal time; I’ll find you something to do.” Steve takes a step back and swallows hard, mouth working as if to say something else, and adds, “Is there anything else?”

Bucky pulls his lower lip into his mouth and lets it out slowly, breathing hard. Over Steve’s shoulder he can see Winter’s tail lash violently back and forth. He forces himself to calm down, for her sake, and looks back at Steve. “No, Wingleader,” he says, voice dripping with disdain. With one last look at Steve, he pushes off the wall and exits the weyr.

He only realizes that Steve touched his shoulders without flinching away from his missing arm when he gets back to his own weyr.

* * *

The next morning’s practice is agonizing for Bucky. Steve sends him off to inventory firestone, of all things. Winter at least gets to continue practicing formations in the air without him, but he’s left elbow-deep in the sooty rock, estimating volumes and recording them down on a clipboard. Bucky’s been reliant on his prosthetic for long enough that it takes twice as long with only the one arm. Bucky’s pissed at Steve for assigning him such a mundane task, feeling punished, and completes it as quickly and as sullenly as he can.

Now that he’s got an ear out for it, Bucky hears gossip about Tempest’s upcoming mating flight everywhere. It’s a topic at every meal, talked to death throughout the community of dragonriders and a source of rampant speculation, especially since Fury announced he’d be stepping down as Weyrleader as well. While he doesn’t know Peggy very well, he knows enough of her by reputation to believe she’ll make an excellent Weyrwoman; the new Weyrleader, however, remains a huge unknown.

That evening he goes back to Tony’s workshop and gets his arm refitted. Tony had spent the time as promised fixing the leak and resealing any of the seams that were starting to look weak. He was starting to get ideas on how to further improve the design, but unfortunately Bucky really needs his arm back to fly Winter. Tony reluctantly returns it after extracting a promise to get to work on it again during Bucky’s first furlough. 

* * *

The next week flies by and before they know it, it’s time for Bucky and Winter’s first Threadfall with Strike Team One. They are slotted to fight on second shift; the blue and green dragons are too small to have the stamina to last an entire Threadfall and thus they each only work for half.

Winter eagerly chews her allotment of firestone as they prep the handoff, as excited as Bucky to get into the fray. Next to them Widow and Natasha gear up similarly, and Natasha grins feverishly at Bucky. “Ready?” she asks.

Bucky grins back, almost trembling with suppressed adrenaline. “Ready,” he says. He dons his flight helmet and fastens the strap beneath his chin. He vaults onto Winter’s back with the help of a boost from her elbow and settles down for takeoff. The half-wing is already in formation when Sam gives the signal and they launch into the air in unison. They wing upwards into overcast sky and Redwing gives the coordinates for their entrance into the Fall. As one, the dragons wink _between_ to the leading edge, where the rest of their wing continues the fight.

After the brief moment of cold and darkness of _between_ , Winter emerges with the half-wing and immediately goes into action. She swoops and dives, twisting in the maneuvers coordinated by Redwing to go after the latticed pattern of Threads falling from the sky. Bucky grips her tightly with his thighs and lies low to her body, keeping the center of gravity close to her core, and he notices Steve and Nomad ahead of him in their blue and white Wingleader insignia, surveying the continued Fall and no doubt communicating orders telepathically through the ranks.

The Fall goes as predicted for the first few hours and Bucky and Winter ease into their role in the wing, darting amongst their wing-mates to flame any clumps that fall through the lines of defense above. As time goes on the adrenaline fades and their muscles loosen, movements becoming easy and familiar as they enter a state of extended flow. Turn, dodge, flame, soar, dive—the maneuvers become second nature after the weeks of practice. As the Fall winds down Bucky feels Winter start to tire, her turns not quite as quick, her wingbeats not quite as strong. He’s tracing the edge of exhaustion himself, and he can actually see the line of Threadfall ending a few miles off and coming toward them when it happens.

An errant clump falls through the line. Sometimes this happens near the edges of Falls; erratic patterns that can’t be predicted as the star that generates the deadly spores spins out of range of their planet. Bucky looks up and sees it heading for Steve, who is turned away observing the trailing edge and unaware of the twisting, silvery mass headed toward him. Bucky doesn’t think twice before he sends Winter _between_ and they reappear above Nomad, stretching his metal arm out in what feels like slow motion to intercept the path of Thread mere feet before it would have collided with their Wingleader. He smells burning hair and feels a sharp jolt from the arm all the way down his spine as the Thread makes impact and dissolves once in contact with the cold metal. He catches a glimpse of Steve’s upturned face, eyes wide, before Winter’s momentum carries her in a barrel roll right over the top of Nomad. A single Thread escapes and clips her wing and she lets out a scream. Bucky feels a phantom searing pain on his arm and directs Winter back to the lower ranks to recover. He chances a look up and sees Steve’s face red and contorted in shock and perhaps rage, but decides to table any thoughts about consequences until after the fight is over.

It’s only after they land and Bucky’s got his helmet off, gently handling Winter’s Threadscored wing and slathering it with anesthetic, that he realizes that his braid was seared clean off as he pulled that move; his hair falls in sweaty clumps loose down to his shoulders. Only then does he understand just how close he came to a serious injury, one so severe that it may have put him out of commission…permanently.

“ _Barnes!_ ” he hears bellowed, and Bucky straightens suddenly and turns to his Wingleader marching directly for him, face pale and whites showing around his eyes. Steve rushes up to Bucky and grabs him by the upper arms for a moment before he starts patting Bucky down, searching for injury. “Bucky, are you hurt? Are you ok?” his eyes flit across Bucky’s body, distressed.

Bucky grabs Steve’s wrists to still them. “Steve, yes, I’m fine,” he says. Steve’s eyes snap back to his. He searches his gaze for a moment, taking in Bucky’s shorn hair, and his coloring starts to go from pale to red as the anger begins to filter in.

“Bucky, what were you thinking?” he says, grabbing Bucky by the shoulders again. “You could have been killed! What were you doing?”

Bucky looks over Steve’s shoulder to see his wingmates trying diligently to watch without appearing to look. This is more the sort of dressing-down he expected, given his disregard for his orders and flight formation. “I,” he starts, swallows and starts again. “I’m not sure – I just saw the Thread coming straight for you, I didn’t really think, I just reacted…” he trails off.

Steve looks at him forlornly, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “You broke rank. You know I have to subject you to disciplinary action for this.”

Bucky’s face heats slightly at the word ‘discipline’. “Yes, sir,” he says.

Steve heaves a sigh and looks Bucky over again. “Alright. I’ll think about it and let you know what sort of punishment I decide.” He holds his gaze for a moment and Bucky swallows heavily again, starting to squirm a little under Steve’s intense scrutiny and the innuendo Bucky’s sure only he reads into those words. Steve turns to look at Winter. “She ok?”

Bucky nods vigorously. “Yes sir, just a light scoring, she’ll be fine.”

Steve’s eyes narrow slightly and his lips quirk into a small smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” He nods one more time and then turns and leaves to tend to Nomad before the wing gets together for their post-Threadfall debrief.

Natasha comes up to stand next to Bucky and they both watch Steve’s retreating form. She then turns to Bucky and raises one eyebrow.

Bucky blushes deeper. “Shut up,” he says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Natasha says.

* * *

The next afternoon Bucky directs Winter back to their secret spot. He knows that any time now Winter will rise for her own first mating flight, and between the anxiety of that approaching event and the residual angst he feels from this _thing_ with Steve, he needs a bit of stress relief. He’s absently wondering if he can get Clint back in bed with him for a quick tumble, so distracted that he doesn’t even notice they’re there until Winter quickly sinks down and backwings into the clearing by the pool.

Lounging in the water, elbows back on the rocky bank, is Steve. Nomad is submerged as well, raising his head with interest as Winter lands. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky sputters angrily from Winter’s back. He’s furious that Steve would violate the sanctity of his secret spot by showing up here.

Steve opens his eyes and fixes Bucky with his gaze. He takes a moment to observe Bucky’s face, contorted with rage, before shrugging a shoulder. “Nomad brought me here. He said Winter wanted us to come.” He pushes off his side of the pool and swims to where Winter stands.

“ _What?_ ” Bucky exclaims, staring down at Winter.

_Get off, I want to get in,_ she says, attempting a shrug. Dumbfounded, Bucky slides off, unhooking her light tack so it falls to the ground.

_Traitor,_ he thinks to her as she dives into the pool with a splash. The resulting ripple drenches Steve at the water’s edge and gets Bucky’s clothes wet. Winter resurfaces next to Nomad and immediately starts nosing at his face. Bucky just stares, eye twitching slightly.

Steve clears his throat and Bucky’s attention zeroes back on him, looking a bit more sodden now and with his forearms and chest now up on the rocky outcropping nearest Bucky. The position squeezes his pecs together, giving him some truly glorious cleavage. Bucky scowls and his eye gives another spasmodic twitch, and Steve seems to color a little. “Bucky,” he says, “I wanted to apologize for the other night, when you came to see me. I was unprofessional.” He pauses, seemingly searching for the right words. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you. Or shoved you. I’m sorry.” He looks up at Bucky, his big blue eyes imploring.

Bucky stares down at him for a moment, trying to hold on to his anger, but in the face of Steve’s kicked-puppy expression finds it draining out of him. He sits down on the ground near Steve and puts his head in his hands, overwhelmed by all of the stress he’s been feeling. Huffs out a shaky breath and tries not to sob in front of his hot Wingleader.

He hears water sloshing as Steve lifts himself out of the water and steps over to him, crouching by his side and putting a damp hand on his back. “Hey, it’s ok Bucky, you’re ok,” he soothes, patting his back a little awkwardly. Bucky takes a few slow, deep breaths, actively trying to relax his shoulders, and then lifts his head up to look at Steve, but is brought up short.

“Why are you naked?” Incredulous.

Steve looks down, shameless. “Nomad didn’t tell me to bring a swimsuit,” he says, as if it were obvious.

Bucky feels his face begin to flame yet again in the presence of this guy, and struggles manfully to keep his gaze locked on Steve’s face. “And so you just... decided to go skinny dipping. In my secret spot.”

Steve shrugs and gives a little grin. “Hey, it’s a hot day. What would you do?” His smile widens and he stands back up, putting his crotch now about eye-level with Bucky’s seated form. “Why don’t you strip down and take a swim with me? It’ll help you relax.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and tries his best not to spontaneously combust. At this point he thinks he’s probably visibly trembling from all the tension. “Sure,” he says weakly, “why not. Why don’t you get back in, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sure,” Steve echoes, something like amusement coloring his voice, and Bucky waits to hear him slip back into the water before he reopens his eyes. He’s trying to decide if it’d be less embarrassing to undress with his backside or his front semi toward Steve when he hears laughter come his way mentally from Winter.

“Shut up,” he mutters, pulling his clothes off with violence, “you overgrown garden snake.” He gathers his clothes and bends over to pick up Winter’s discarded tack, resolutely not looking over his shoulder to where Steve may or may not be watching, and places it carefully out of range of any spray that may be kicked up from frolicking dragons. He hustles over to the side of the pool and jumps in, the shocking cold doing little to calm down his overheated body. He exhales a rush of bubbles and wonders if perhaps he should just drown himself to avoid further embarrassment, but necessity makes him surface again and he swims to the edge, resting a few feet left of Steve. He keeps his eyes fixed on their dragons, who are playfully splashing water at one another, hides glittering with diamond droplets in the summer sun.

“So…” Steve interjects into the awkward silence that’s descended between them. “What’s bothering you? It can’t be fighting Thread – you did great last time, really great. Are you nervous about Winter’s first mating flight?”

Bucky just slowly turns and blinks slightly crazed eyes at Steve. “Why would I be nervous about that?”

Steve looks him over briefly, gaze dropping to his chest before darting back up to his eyes. “You grew up in the Weyr, you know it can be overwhelming,” he says, and turns so his body faces Bucky’s. “What with the hormones and emotions and whatnot. I remember the first time Nomad took part in a flight,” he says smiling and stretching his arms above his head. Bucky closes his eyes at the sight, swallows roughly. “It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, “please, just stop.”

“Stop what?” Steve asks, innocent.

“Just, what do you want from me?” Bucky asks, eyes cast down. His face burns, he’s got a hell of an awkward boner despite the cold water and he can feel the beginning of tears pricking his eyes. He feels concern radiating from Winter, through the haze of stress and irritation and arousal currently suffusing his whole body, and his bottom lip trembles as he struggles to keep a hold of himself. 

“Oh, Bucky, it’s ok,” Steve says, and suddenly Bucky feels a warm arm around his shoulders, pulling him in. “I’ve got you, you’re ok.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, and then suddenly he’s got tears falling. He cries near silently, mortified to be losing his shit in front of Steve but also completely overwhelmed by the emotions that have been surging through him for days. He lets out a few weak noises that he’ll deny until his dying day, and after a moment surrenders to the feelings. His arms lift to circle around Steve and he turns to bury his face in Steve’s neck.

Steve pulls him in, stroking his hair as he makes soothing noises. After a few minutes of more intense sobbing, Bucky’s crying subsides to soft hiccups. Steve is slowly rubbing his back, other hand cupping Bucky’s neck. Bucky finally pulls back and can’t bear to look Steve in the face; he figures his own face is a mess of swollen nose and eyes and various fluids still leaking. He sniffs hard and feels the hand behind his neck come around to his chin. Steve turns him to meet his eyes and Bucky feels unbearably exposed; a few more tears leak from his eyes and trace down his cheeks.

“Buck,” Steve says, still cupping his jaw with one hand. “You don’t ever have to hide from me.” He rubs his thumb along Bucky’s cheek. “I’m here for you. I want to help you.” Steve bites his lip and looks down for a moment before meeting Bucky’s eyes again. “I like you. You draw me in. You’re brave and stubborn and,” he blushes, “incredibly hot.” He swallows once and presses on. “I want… whatever you’ll give me.”

Bucky stares into Steve’s eyes, so blue and goddamn earnest, and he sways a little before he closes his eyes and then the distance between them, pressing his lips to Steve’s. The kiss is a little wet and salty with tears, chapped and cold and then Steve tilts his head and opens his mouth just a little, licks across the seam of Bucky’s lips and there’s heat, molten and sending a jolt down to Bucky’s toes. They kiss a little bit more before Steve pulls back and rests his forehead against Bucky’s, still cradling his face and rubbing a thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone. Bucky lets out a shaky breath and clutches at Steve, heart racing.

“I am nervous,” Bucky murmurs quietly. “About the flight.”

“Everyone’s nervous the first time,” Steve says softly back. “You’ll be okay. You’ll probably even enjoy it,” he says.

“Steve,” Bucky says, “is it too soon to say I hope it’s you?” He pulls back and looks into Steve’s eyes.

Steve’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “No,” he says. “I hope it’s me too.” He leans forward to capture Bucky’s lips again, gently.

* * *

Peggy’s gold dragon, Tempest, rises to mate that next Thursday. Gabriel Jones’ bronze Lascaux flies her, cementing his position as new Weyrleader of Shield Weyr.

Nomad doesn’t even participate.

* * *

It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday when it finally happens. 

Bucky is dropping off clothes at the laundry, of all things. Part of the itch under his skin was the need to clean; he’d already done a deep clean of his weyr, Winter’s tack and his flying gear and had gathered up all his dirty laundry and bed linens for the laundry service that Shield Weyr provided to all dragonriders. He was just handing his laundry bag to one of the laundresses when it hits him with a jolt, making him snap up straight and the hairs on his arms stand up. The underlying buzz of unresolved tension he’s been feeling for weeks suddenly blooms into full-fledged lust in the span of a moment.

From the Weyr ledge, Winter rises up and lets out a piercing scream. She launches herself into the air and arrows to the penned up herdbeasts set aside for this purpose. She leaps and pounces on one, snapping its neck in an instant as the rest of the beasts stampede to the far side of the pen. She crunches down and starts drinking the hot, fresh blood, energy for her flight without the heaviness of meat weighing her down. She discards the beast and leaps on another, dispatching it similarly. Male dragons have gathered nearby, ready to give chase the moment she takes flight.

Bucky runs outside at full speed, laundry forgotten. He bursts above ground and makes a beeline for Winter, seeing her shining hide from afar. He’s getting closer when strong arms catch him around the waist.

“ _Bucky!_ ” Steve says, “You can’t go over there, not now, it’s too dangerous!”

Bucky stares back at Steve, panting heavily, when suddenly Winter leaps straight up into the sky and his mind flies with her.

_They’re climbing effortlessly, wings beating the air with ease and blood pumping hot through their veins. They don’t even spare a glance for the males following below, darting further upwards as they navigate the clouds. They are strong, they are swift, they will not be caught! They fly ever higher, filling their lungs with powerful deep breaths and stretching their muscles with every downward stroke. They soar above the Weyr, looking forward to the glittering ocean ahead, and see their shadow on a cloud._

_No, not **their** shadow—_

_He drops from nowhere, capturing them and twining neck and tail as they begin to fall. Of course, of course, it is Nomad, and truly, who else could it be?_

* * *

“Damn it, Bucky! You had to wait until _now?_ ” Steve says.

“Steve, _Steve!_ ” Bucky says, breathless. “Need you now. Inside me, _right fucking now Steve!_ ” He writhes on Steve’s bed, naked and desperate.

Steve grips Bucky’s hips with one hand, using the other to slather his dick with lube. He’s already done as much hasty prep as he can to Bucky given the circumstances, but thankfully Bucky’s as relaxed as one can be while also frantic and begging for it. He lines up and pushes in, the head of his cock popping inside of Bucky, punching out a shout and a jolt from the man below him. Steve immediately freezes, “Fuck, Bucky, did I hurt you?” 

Bucky rears up, eyes black and blazing as he grabs Steve by the hair and yanks him down for a biting kiss. “ _More,_ ” he says, wriggling and attempting to thrust his hips further up onto Steve’s cock.

Steve pushes Bucky’s shoulders back down onto the bed and holds him there, his chest heaving with the effort of holding still when he’s got Nomad’s residual lust coursing through him. Bucky’s gaze jumps from one of Steve’s eyes to the other, pupils fully blown and hair sticking to his temples with sweat. His mouth is open and red and he’s biting his own bottom lip, straining his head up to try to get to Steve. Steve holds his gaze as he slides slowly all the way in with one smooth push, and Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head and he arches his back with a moan. Steve lays his full weight on Bucky, forcing Bucky to take the time to adjust, and Bucky wraps long legs around Steve’s waist, ankles hooking at the back. “Steve,” Bucky moans, hands scrabbling at Steve’s back, “oh, god, _Steve!”_

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you,” Steve says, kissing down the column of Bucky’s neck. He starts to slowly grind his hips against Bucky’s, smiling when Bucky trembles and strains against him.

“ _Please_ , Steve, _please move right now I fucking swear to Christ—_ “ Bucky gasps, as Steve pulls out an inch or so before easing back in. Bucky squirms beneath him, unsatisfied, and Steve takes pity, pulling out further and starting to thrust with more force. “Yes, _yes_ ,” Bucky moans, curling up into the sensation. He lowers one leg and entwines it with Steve’s, toes gripping his calf while his other heel digs into Steve’s ass, keeping him close. “More, Steve, c’mon, s’good, s’good,” he rambles, and Steve pulls back as best he can against that encircling grip and starts slamming his hips harder, rougher against Bucky’s ass.

It’s over almost embarrassingly quick, with Bucky gasping for breath, arching his back and coming all over their bellies untouched, clenching hard around Steve. Steve takes in the blissed out look on Bucky’s face and the bruising grip of Bucky’s metal hand on his bicep, gives two more good thrusts and follows him over the edge, spilling deep inside him and satisfying the raging lust ignited by their dragons’ flight. He tries not to collapse on top of Bucky, head hanging down to press lips and a mouth dry from panting to his lover’s.

Bucky seems dazed but returns the kiss slowly, arms moving from their clenched grip to a softer embrace around Steve’s upper back. He plays with the short sweaty hairs at the back of Steve’s neck and lets his legs splay to the side, Steve still buried within. After a minute Steve slips out gingerly and moves to rest on his side next to Bucky, propped on an elbow to gaze into his face. Bucky’s eyes are locked on him and a sweet smile rises to his lips as they study each other. “Is it always like that?” Bucky asks softly.

“Like what?” Steve says, stroking a hand down Bucky’s chest.

“That intense,” Bucky breathes. “That… quick,” he adds, coloring.

Steve grins. “Not always that intense,” he says. “I think it helps that Nomad and Winter have a bit of a thing for each other.”

“Oh really,” Bucky says, “ _they_ have a bit of a thing for each other?”

Steve leans down to kiss him again. “I might have a bit of a thing for you,” he admits with a smile. “As for quick, well,” he teases, “we can work on your stamina.”

Bucky flushes and scowls for a minute before turning thoughtful. “Work on? Like, with practice?”

Steve nods seriously. “Lots of practice. I’ll have to add it to the schedule. Don’t want to wear you out, Barnes. But you know Winter will have a flight every three or four months, so we’ve got some time to prepare for the next one.”

Bucky’s lips turn up in a salacious grin before he surges up and flips them, Steve on his back and Bucky on top. “I think I can live with that,” he says, bending his head to capture Steve’s lips again in a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

From deep within the weyr, the satisfied rumbling of happy sleeping dragons can be heard.


End file.
